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31; 



A LECTURE 



Life, Character, and Times of lapoieoD Bonaparte, 



— DELIVERED BY— 



*?" WM. L. ROYALL, 

^ £fe Richmond (Fa.) Theatre, by request, for the benefit of the Rosemary 



Library, on the evening of April 2-/. i8gi. j 

} M 



<*-* 



Ladies and Gentlemen : 

There is no secularian who has been so much discussed and 
written about as Napoleon Bonaparte, and surely he is the most fasci- 
nating personality that has ever illumined this orb. Distant as we 
are from his dav, overwhelmed as we are with his literature, there is 

even vet much that we need to know, to estimate his life and time 



completely. The great military historian, Sir Archibald Allison, who 

should certainly know whatever pertains to war, speaks of "Mar- 
shal" Junot; Prince Talleyrand, whose fascinating memoirs are just 
now coming out, speaks of his ever} r -day associate, " Marshal " Junot. 
Yet Junot was never a marshal of France, and, great soldier that 
he was, a private reason exists why he was not. At the wells of Mes- 
soudiah he rashly instilled suspicions of Josephine into Bonaparte's 
mind. Bourrienne overheard him and fought for the distant culprit. 
Forgiven and taken back to his bosom, the autocrat never forgave 
him who had accused her, and thus the Duke d' Abrantes lost the raar- 
shal's baton. When such persons as these trip and fall over such tri- 
fling stumbling-blocks as that, are we. seekers after light, to be blamed 
for finding much that confuses us ? 

Who was this man Napoleon Bonaparte? Let him answer for 

himself. And this is his language: "I am the Revolution," meaning 

■ 
thereby to say that he was the outcome, result, and embodiment of 

that furious upheaval that rocked our civilization to and fro and 

shook the pillars of society to their very foundations. To know, 

therefore, who he was, we must know what was the Revolution. Let 

us take a brief glance at that. 



We have now the first volume of Talleyrand's memoirs, and let all 
lovers of literature thank Providence that they have been preserved 
to us. I quote him : 

"If historians make it a point to seek the men to whom they can 
award the honor, or address the reproach of having made, directed 
or modified the French Revolution, the}' will give themselves unneces- 
sary trouble. It had no authors, leaders, nor guides. It was sown 
by writers who, in an enlightened and venturesome century, wishing 
to attack prejudices, subverted the religious and social principles, and 
by unskilful ministers who increased the deficit in the treasury and the 
discontent of the people. 

" It would be necessary, in order to find the real origin and causes 
of the Revolution, to weigh, analyze, and judge questions of high 
speculative politics, and especially to submit to a profound and skilful 
examination the question of the struggle between philosophical ideas 
and prejudices, between the pretensions of mind and those of power. 
For, if we were to take into consideration only the sole results of that 
Revolution, we should soon fall into error, and end by mistaking 
M. de Malesherbes for Mirabeau, and M. de la Rochefoucauld for 
Robespierre." 

To differ with such an authority on such a point is a daring act, 
3'et I have the Revolution's (that is Bonaparte's) authority for saying 
that M. de Talleyrand has attributed a power to names and ar°u- 
ments that they did not possess. The origin of the Revolution lay 
deeper down in society than Talleyrand thought. Bonaparte said 
to Las Cases at St. Helena that the Revolution was a rebellion of the 
Gauls against the Franks, and that Robespierre, whom we are accus- 



tomed to look upon as the personal embodiment of that period of 
butchery and crime, was by no means the worst man of the Revolu- 
tion ! — that his private character was measurably good ; that his ac- 
tions were inspired b} r fanaticism rather than by vice ; and that if any 
one had offered him a bribe the tempter would have assuredly lost his 
head. There is much food for thought in these statements; so let us 
think of them and see what they mean, and thus we shall learn what 
the Revolution was, and, therefore, what Bonaparte was. 

Anywhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand years ago, 
that fair land called France lay peacefully enjoying herself, with a 
large population called Gauls. About that time a body of those blue- 
eyed, fair-haired men that issued from the forests of Germany to take 
possession of the world, called and calling themselves ''Franks," 
bethought themselves to take possession of fair France and occupy it 
for their own exclusive good. They proceeded to do this, and they did 
it entirely and exceedingly well. Thev- were not so canny as were 
their descendants of a few hundred years later, who equally bethought 
themselves to take possession of England, but who were wise enough 
in their generation to blend the old population with themselves, and 
who thereby erected and established the noblest breed of men on 
earth — a breed that saves us from ruin and forces us into being better 
men day after day. The Franks selfishly wished to enjoy all France 
to themselves, and they proceeded to enjoy it as they wished for. 
The\ r established themselves as the Lords and Barons of the land and 
turned the Gauls into their hewers of wood and drawei's of water. 
It would be b\ r no means true to say that they did this by one coup, 
as the French say. But the case arose of a conqueror and a conquered 



people — the conqueror inconsiderately reducing the conquered to a 
condition of practical serfdom, and social law b} r degrees developed a 
privileged class of rulers, descended in the main from the conquering 
Franks; whilst the great body of the people, descended from the 
down-trodden Gauls, were viewed and treated as machines, created to 
furnish support and pleasure to their aristocratic masters, the Franks. 

I should justly be accused of wasting time if I gave more than a 
passing glance at societ}- as the Revolution found it. It was a time 
when the individual's right to his faculties — physical and mental, to 
his own brain, to his own eyes, to his own hands and feet — in a word, 
to his body and soul — were denied. It was the dav of banalities and 
siegneurs justiciers — the day when the prying eve of government 
followed the butcher to the shambles and the baker to the oven — 
when the peasant could not cross a river without pa}'ing some noble- 
man a toll, nor take his produce to market until he had bought leave 
to do so — nor consume what remained of his grain until it had been 
sent to the Lord's mill to be ground — nor marry off his daughter till 
she had spent a night with the Lord at his chateau — nor full his cloths 
on his own works — nor sharpen his tools at his own grindstone — nor 
make oil, wine or cider at his own press. It was a day when the 
masses groaned under servitude piled up on servitude, which the}' must 
render, that the Lords might be happy. It was a clay of grief, that 
turned all the milk of human kindness into gall. It was the day of 
privilege to the nobleman and of degradation and despair to the 
people. This is stolen, but none the less true. 

Now, he who studies the Revolution carefully will see that, amidst 
all its blood and butcheiw,the onecardinal idea pressing the leaders on 



was the earnest, fixed determination to rid France of the privileged 
classes— the nobility and the aristocrats. Doubtless many who were 
neither fell under the blade of the guillotine, were strangled at night, 
or drowned by day. But the motif, so to speak— the impulsing cause 
of that great social upheaval— was the determination of the body 
politic to rid the country of those who had privileges— of those who 
had fattened on the people under the name of aristocrats The 
slaughter of those who were not of them was an incident of the Revo- 
lution, and by no means its aim. And now we see what Bonaparte 
meant when he said the Revolution was a rebellion of the Gauls 
against the Franks, and that Robespierre was not essentially a bad 
man. He meant that, being part of the movement to destroy the 
aristocrats, Robespierre was willing to go any length to accomplish 
that end ; but that end achieved, he would probably have been a citi- 
zen as reasonable as another. We can now take some of the dimen- 
sions of this prodigious personality, Napoleon Bonaparte, and learn 
something of what he meant when he declared, "I am the Revolution.'" 

There remains but one touch to put to the picture, and that shall 
be put by M. Thiers. Said that great writer : 

"We may be told that he came to perform a mysterious task, 
imposed without his being aware of it, by Fate, of which he was the 
involuntary agent. It was not liberty that he came to continue, for 
that could not yet exist. He came to continue, under monarchical 
forms, the revolution in the world ; he came to continue it by seating 
himself, a plebeian, on a throne; by bringing the Pontiff to Paris to 
anoint a plebeian's brow with the sacred oil ; by creating an aristocracy 
with plebeians; by obliging the old aristocracies to associate them- 



selves with his plebeian aristocracy; by making kings of plebeians; 
by taking to his bed the daughter of the Caesars and mingling ple- 
beian blood with the blood of one of the oldest reigning families in 
Europe; by blending all nations; by introducing the French laws in 
Germany, in Italy, and in Spain; by dissolving so many spells; by 
mixing up together and compounding so many things. Such was the 
immense task he came to perform; and meanwhile the new state 
of society was to consolidate itself under the protection of his power- 
ful sword, and liberty was to follow some day." 

This ends the chapter by which I intend to inform you how he 
came about and what he was. - 

Having determined what he was, let us inquire for a moment what 
manner of man he was. 

Bourrienne was Napoleon's pla\ r mate, school-fellow, and intimate 
friend. He was his private secretary, thrown with him as intimately 
as one man can be with another from 1797 to' 1802. A most Clevel- 
and accomplished man, Bonaparte detected him in peculations in 
1801, discarded him, and disgraced him. Bourrienne deserted him 
and afterwards took service under the Bourbons. He therefore hated 
Bonaparte with all the fervor of a disgraced man and traitor. He 
composed his memoirs in 1828, when Bonaparte was no more. He 
has painted him black enough, yet he says that at the beginning 
Bonaparte had a feeling heart. I have purposely resorted to this wit- 
ness in search of whatever good I had to say of him, because he is 
obviously the most prejudiced witness against him that exists. Never- 
theless, I say that he did not have a feeling heart, and that he had no 
heart at all. 



In that wonderful book, "A Strange Stoiw," Lord Lytton has 
drawn us the horrid picture of a man who was all intellect, but with- 
out heart or soul. This was Bonaparte. Out of the enormous mass 
of evidence that might be cited to prove my statement let me produce 
a few instances. Bourrienne has presented a sketch of him, made at 
the beginning of his career b} r Madame Bourrienne, his wife. I quote 
from it : 

"I remarked at this period," 1795, "that his character was re- 
served and frequently gloomy. His smile was hypocritical and often 
misplaced, and I recollect that a few clays after our return he gave us 
one of those specimens of savage hilarit\r which I greatly disliked, 
and which possessed me against him. He was telling us that, being 
before Toulon, where he commanded the artilleiw, one of his officers 
was visited by his wife, to whom he had been but a short time mar- 
ried, and whom he tenderly loved. A few clays after, orders were 
given for another attack upon the town, in which this officer was to 
be engaged. His wife came to General Bonaparte, and with tears 
entreated him to dispense with her husband's services that da}'. The 
General was inexorable, as he himself tolcl us with a sort of savage 
exultation. The moment for the attack arrived, and the officer, 
though a very brave man, as Bonaparte himself assured us, felt a pre- 
sentiment of his approaching death. He turned pale and trembled. 
He was stationed beside the General, and, during an interval when the 
firing from the town was very heav\ r , Bonaparte called out to him, 
"Take care, there is a shell coming!" The officer, instead of moving 
to one side, stooped down, and was literally severed in two. Bona- 



parte laughed loudly while he described the event with horrible 
minuteness." 

What is this but a fiend ? 

His nephew, Napoleon the Third and little, has had his letters and 
dispatches published, from which I make two extracts. One, an order 
sent General Berthier from Cairo, August 1, 1798, says: 

" General Dumuy will disarm the town of Daivanhour and will cut 
off the heads of the five chief inhabitants. One amongst the worst men 
of the law," meaning the most distinguished lawyer, " and four others 
who have most influence with the population, should be selected." 
These five citizens had done nothing whatever to cause even their 
arrest. 

July 31, 1798, he writes General Menon : 

"The Turks can only be kept in order b\ r means of the greatest 
severitv. Every day I have five or six heads cut off in the streets of 
Cairo," whether the\- had offended or whether they had not. 

Of what value are comments in the face of these facts? 

Talleyrand was the most capable judge of the time, and for many 
years he was associated with him on the most intimate terms. The 
first volume of his memoirs paints him blacker than midnight. Chap- 
ter IV. begins thus : 

"Napoleon was at Finkenstein and said one day, in a cheerful mo-* 
ment, 'I know, when necessar}-, how to throw off the skin of the lion 
and put on that of the fox.' " 

Continuing, says Talle\ T rand : 

"He was fond of deceiving, and would do so for the mere love of 



it; apart from his policy, his instinct would have made it a necessity 
for him." 

We must of course go to contemporary literature to judge him, 
but there we find ourselves greatly embarrassed. The writers of his 
dav may be classed under three heads: First, unreasoning adula- 
tors; second, unreasoning detractors; and third, a few just critics. 
Amongst the last I place Madame de Remusat at the very top. I do 
this for three reasons : First, she was one of Josephine's ladies-in- 
waiting, and therefore saw him and talked with him every daj' ; sec- 
ond, Chateaubriand has certified that he read her memoirs in manu- 
script, and he says of them that " Bonaparte is always clearly 
depicted and impartialh' judged" — Chateaubriand's own words; 
third, a perusal of them discloses the writer to have had a brilliant 
and discriminating mind, a candid judgment, and a loving and ten- 
der heart. I shall complete my sketch of him in her words. She says 
of him : 

"The intellect of Bonaparte was most remarkable. It would be 
difficult, I think, to find among men a more powerful or comprehen- 
sive mind. It owed nothing to education ; for in reality he was igno- 
rant, reading but little, and that hurriedly. But he quickly siezed 
upon the little that he learned, and his imagination developed it so 
extensively that he might easih- have passed for a well-educated man. 
His intellectual capacitj- seemed to be vast, from the number of sub- 
jects he could take in and classify without fatigue. With him one idea 
gave birth to a thousand, and a word would lift his conversation into 
elevated regions of fancy, in which exact logic did not indeed keep him 
company, but in which his intellect never failed to shine." 



After that tribute we can hardly distrust what she says on the 
ground of prejudice against him. Let us now see what she has to say 
of his moral nature. She continues : 

"According to the order I have laid down, I ought now to speak 
of Bonaparte's heart; but if it were possible to believe that a being, 
in ever}- other way similar to ourselves, could exist without that por- 
tion of our organization which makes us desire to love and be loved, I 
should say that in his creation the heart was left out." 

Again : 

"There was no generosity, no true greatness in him. I have never 
known him to admire, I have never known him to comprehend a fine 
action. He always regarded every indication of a good feeling with 
suspicion ; he did not value sinceiity, and did not hesitate to say that 
he recognized the superiority of a man by the greater or less degree of 
cleverness with which he used the art of lying. On the occasion of his 
saying this, he added, with great complacency, that when he was a 
child, one of his uncles had predicted that he should govern the world, 
because he was an habitual liar. 'M. de Metternich,' he added, 
' approaches to being a statesman— he lies very well.' " 

Discussing the Spanish muddle with Talleyrand, she reports him 
as saA'ing : 

"A cowardty act! What does that matter to me? Understand 
that I should not fail to commit one if it were useful to me. In 
realitv, there is nothing really noble or base in this world; I have in 
my character all that can contribute to secure my power, and to 
deceive those who think they know me. Frankly, I am base, essen- 
tially base. I give you my word that I should feel no repugnance to 



commit what would be called hj the world a dishonorable action ; my 
secret tendencies, which are, after all, those of nature, opposed to cer- 
tain affectations of greatness with which I have to adapt myself, give 
me infinite resources with which to baffle every one. Therefore, all I 
have to do now is to consider whether your advice agrees with my 
present policy, and to try and find out besides," he added (says M. de 
Talle\'rand), with a satanic smile, "whether you have not some pri- 
vate interest in urging me to take this step." 

Continuing, she says: 

"I have said that Bonaparte was incapable of generosity ; and yet 
his gifts were immense, and the rewards he bestowed gigantic. But 
when he paid for a service he made it plain that he expected to bu\ r 
another, and a vague uneasiness as to the conditions of the bargain 
always remained. There was also a good deal of caprice 'in his gifts, 
so that the\- rareh r excited gratitude. Morever, he required that the 
money he distributed should all be expended, and he rather liked peo- 
ple to contract debts, because it kept them in a state of dependence. 
At one time he settled a considerable revenue on M. de Remusat, that 
we might keep what is called open house and receive a great many 
foreigners. We were very exact in the first expenses demanded by a 
great establishment. A little while after, I had the misfortune to lose 
my mother, and was forced to close 1213- house. The Emperor then 
rescinded all his gifts, on the ground that we could not keep the 
engagement we had made, and left us in what was really a position 
of embarrassment, caused entirely by his fugitive and burdensome 
gifts." 

Ladies and gentlemen, remember, it is not 1 who has painted 



him as this fiend — it is those who knew him and were competent 
to judge. Let me, then, sa\ r what I can to lighten the picture. 
His supreme intellect is acknowledged b}- all— friends and foes alike. 
And he had the most useful of all endowments, a determination to 
succeed. His masterful characteristic was energy — energy of the 
mind — energ\- of the body. When a thing was to be done he did 
not know what rest meant. He wrote Josephine from Italy, "I 
covered sixty leagues yesterday" — 180 miles. A blossom of his 
energy was his impatience. Riding at a gallop past a cabin, the 
cur-dog ran out and barked at his heels. One pistol from his holster 
was fired at him, then the other. Both missed.; he dashed the last 
one at the dog, drove both spurs into his horse, and ran from that 
he could not conquer. He cared nothing for news of his success. 
"Wake me, Bourrienne, when bad news comes, but let me sleep if 
it is good." He slept at his will. If nothing was to be done, he 
could sleep twentv-four hours. If work was on hand he never closed 
his eyes. 

I have read everything that I know of touching this extraordi- 
nar\ r man, and I can say candidly and frankly, as the result, that I 
believe the picture of him drawn by Madame de Remusat is his exact 
and truthful portrait. And what a monster does it present! Can all 
the gorgeous splendor of his career — can all his almost superhuman 
intellect — make amends for his absolute want of human sympathy 
and moral sense? I can frankly say that I regard him as the most 
detestable character that has ever infested the earth. 

Ladies and gentlemen, to take Bonaparte for a theme and yet 
say nothing of him as a soldier would realh' be showing Hamlet 



with Hamlet's part left out. But each of us knows himself so 
entirely equipped for passing judgment on him as a soldier that I 
should naturally be sentenced to the place of a very bumptious 
fellow if I dared venture my opinion of what he knew of war. I 
shall therefore let him speak for himself of what he thought of that 
most barbarous art. 

Madame de Remusat overheard and has recorded one of his 
wonderful declamations on this theme. He said : 

" Militar}' science consists in calculating all the chances accu- 
rately in the first place, and then in giving accident exactly, almost 
mathematically, its place in one's calculations. It is upon this point 
that one must not deceive one's self, and that a decimal more or 
less may change all. 

"Now, this apportioning of accident and science cannot get into 
any head except that of a genius, for genius must exist wherever 
there is a creation ; and assuredly the grandest improvisation of 
the human mind is the gift of an existence to that which has it 
not. Accident, hazard, chance, whatever you choose to call it — a 
mystery to ordinary minds — becomes a reality to superior men. 
Turenne did not think of it, and so he had nothing but method ; 
I think," he added with a smile, "I should have beaten him. 
Conde had a better notion of it than Turenne, but, then, he gave 
himself up to it with impetuosit\\ Prince Eugene is one of those 
who understood it best. Henry IV. always put bravery in the 
place of everything; he only fought actions — he would not have 
come well out of a pitched battle. Catinat has been cried up chiefly 



from the democratic point of view; I have, for my own part, car- 
ried off victor}- on the spot where he was beaten." 

These are very profound remarks. The idea intended to be con- 
veyed is this: The commander views a proposed battle from every 
possible standpoint and makes his plans and combinations accord- 
ingly. The mere tactician stops at this ; but the real genius for 
war goes a step further. After having arranged in his plans for all 
that he intends shall happen, he then makes the just and proper 
allowance for accident or chance. To illustrate: When the seven 
days' battles around Richmond came on, General Lee had planned 
that General Jackson should arrive with his corps on McClellan's 
right flank on the afternoon of June 27th. Now suppose an unex- 
pected deluge had so raised the streams between Richmond and the 
Valle\r that General Jackson was unable to reach Richmond on the 
day anticipated. Bonaparte means that the true genius would have 
provided in his plans, as General Lee no doubt did, for just this 
accident; so that if it did occur he would not have been left with 
half an army', to be destroyed by McClellan's whole army. This is 
what he means when he says that Turenne had nothing but method. 
A further insight into his views is obtained from what a staff officer 
overheard him muttering the evening before the battle of Moscow. 
He said: "What is war? A barbarous business; its whole art is 
nothing but being the stronger at a given point." 

Now, this is Napoleon's idea of the science of war, and, having 
presented it, I fed sure I shall be excused for omitting my own ideas 
on the subject. I can at least, however, say this : that our civilization 
and existence turned on the battle of Waterloo; that at Mt. St. Jean 



the decree stood suspended, but finals entered, that the world should 
be free instead of slave; that the contest, like that of Jupiter and the 
Giants, was one in which Heaven fought for us and the Demon of Evil 
fought against us; that if he had triumphed, as, according to all 
human foresight, he should have done, liberty would have been ended 
and the Imperial will would have been the law. Recognizing our 
danger, let us thank Providence for the result, and, on bended knees, 
bless God that we were saved. 

Viewing, the enormity of Waterloo's result, I believe you will 
pardon me for pausing a moment here to give its inspiration and 
theory — and surely the demon's intellect never shone out more resplen- 
dently than here; and surely the world would have been his slave if 
Providence had not taken our side. I will show you Waterloo and let 
you judge for yourselves. 

Ladies and gentlemen, at this point I pause for five minutes. 
Please, all of you, look at the map of Waterloo while I pause Look 
at Brussels, where the Duke la}', at Ligny, where Blucher lay, and 
remember that the distance between them is some thirty-five miles, 
and that Napoleon's headquarters were at Avesnes, some fifty miles 
off towards Paris. 

Returning from Elba, Napoleon again seated himself on the throne 
of France on the 20th day of March, 1815. During the seventy days 
that followed, he busied himself with extraordinary activity and 
energy- in organizing an army out of the wrecks of the French army 
that had been left at his first abdication. 

At the beginning of June, 1815, the Duke of Wellington lay at and 
around Brussels with an English armv and their allies, excluding 



Prussians, of 106,000 men. Marshal Blucher la}' at and around 
Ligny with an army of 117,000—223,000 men in all. Note well that 
the distance from Ligny to Brussels is about thirty^-five miles. Napo- 
leon was concentrating bis army, as it formed, in proximity to Aves- 
nes, its headquarters, distant in the direction of Paris some fifty miles 
from the allies. You see how rash it was in Wellington and Blucher to 
leave this gap of thirty-five miles between them, with their adversary- — 
and such an adversary — eyeing, hawk-like from the flank, the gap 
between them. It almost cost them both of their armies. 

It was estimated that the allies would be able to put in the field by 
the first of June 500,000 men. It was therefore all important to 
Napoleon that he should overwhelm Wellington and Blucher before 
the distant Russians and Austrians arrived. 

After straining every nerve, he was able to mass for operations, 
against their 223,000, only 123,000 men ; but, unequal as the contest 
seemed, the genius of war led the smaller host. Moving silently 
through a friendly country, before either hostile commander was 
aware of it, he was between them with his whole army on the road 
from Ligny to Brussels. Taking his resolutions with the speed of the 
eagle, he sent Ney to Ouatre Bras with 43,000 men, to keep the Eng- 
lish back, while with 80,000 he fell upon Blucher at Ligny. His plan 
was that Ney should drive everything away from Quatre Bras, and, 
returning just when Blucher was crushed, he should interpose between 
Blucher and Wavre and force the Prussians into Germany by way of 
Namur. The plan was brilliant, and but for Providence would have 
prevailed. Ney's force consisted of two corps, one of which, com- 
manded by Count D' Erlon, was at Prasnes at 12 M. of the 16th as a 



reserve for either place. Ney, with 23,000 men, finding himself heavily 
engaged at Quatre Bras, sent for D' Erlon to join him. But an over- 
zealous aide-de-camp, mistaking Napoleon's plans, ordered D' Erlon to 
move immediately to the Prussian right at Ligny. D' Erlon had just 
got there and got in position, mystifying Napoleon and arresting his 
attack on Blucher till he could find out whether D' Erlon was friend or 
foe, when a messenger arrived from Ney, ordering him to come back at 
once to Quatre Bras, where he arrived after the fight was over. Napo- 
leon crushed Blucher, who drew off at nightfall towards Wavre. Now 
observe what Providence did here. Wellington never got up over 
20,000 men at any time during the day for the fight at Quatre Bras. 
Had the staff officer not made his inexcusable blunder and ordered 
D' Erlon off, Ney would have had his 43,000 men in hand and must 
have crushed Wellington, in which case he would have been back at 
Blucher's right before Ligny was over, and would have thus forced 
him over the river by way of Namur. In this case the two armies 
would have been hopelessW separated, and Wellington must have 
been destroj^ed next day. The same result must have followed if 
D' Erlon had been kept at Blucher's right after he got there. 

Lign}- and Quatre Bras were fought on the 16th day of June. The 
Duke of Wellington, finding that all hope of uniting with Blucher near 
Ligny was gone, fell back to Waterloo. Napoleon immediately fol- 
lowed him, hoping to crush him yet before Blucher could unite with 
him. Taking 75,000 men, he marched by Quatre Bras towards 
Waterloo, detaching Marshal Grouchy with 32,000 to follow Blucher. 
Grouchy's orders were that he should follow Blucher, keeping him 



always engaged, and keeping his (Grouchy's) left in touch with Napo- 
leon's right. 

The terrible struggle at Waterloo took place on the 18th. At 4 
o'clock in the day it seemed that the English army was about to be 
destroyed. In the nick of time old Blucher appeared from Wavre, fell 
on Napoleon's right, and in an hour's time his army was dissolved 
into a mob. But how could this have ever occurred if Grouchy had 
performed the part assigned to him ? Blucher's was a defeated army, 
his a victorious one. Had he fought Blucher -incessantly, even to the 
point of losing his 32,000 men, he must have kept him away from 
Waterloo till it was too late for him to do any good. Had he not 
even done this, but kept his left in touch with Napoleon's right, he 
would have arrived at Waterloo sooner than Blucher, and cculd have 
opposed him on Napoleon's right, while he struck Wellington with 
Napoleon's right. I declare, it does seem to me that Providence took 
our side, and but for its interposition our civilization would have been 
lost at Waterloo. 

We should greatly underrate Wellington's peril if we kept before 
our mind the single fact that he commanded 106,000 men when these 
actions commenced. He had unfortunately detached 18,000 to Halle, 
who never got up for the fight ; 5,000 were dead or wounded on the 
field of Ouatre Bras. He had but 24,000 English, Irish, and Scotch, 
and 12,000 Brunswickers and Hanoverians— 36,000 in all. The rest 
of his army were Belgians and Dutch, who, for many reasons, as 
the event proved, were worth nothing for the fight. So that, in point 
of fact, with 36,000 men he faced Napoleon with 75,000 veteran 
soldiers from 11 o'clock in the morning till 1 o'clock in the afternoon. 



Whilst we are duly grateful to Providence for the result, we must not 
forget that noble factor, British valor. When the day ended, a thickly- 
dotted red line across the field of Waterloo marked the place where 
these 24,000 devoted men' had stood. The master of war pounded 
them with three men to one for five hours, but he never pushed them 
back an inch. Why was this? Lieutenant-General Sir Thomas Pic- 
ton was fearfully wounded, on the 16th at Ouatre Bras, by a musket 
ball that broke two of his ribs. Fearing that his commander might 
force him to go away when the decisive fight came on, he concealed 
his wound from all save his valet. When, on the 18th, Wellington 
most needed his heroic example, he fell dead with a bullet in his 
forehead while keeping his men up to their terrible task. Men like 
this produced the result. The heroic courage of these Englishmen 
extorted encomiums even from theirfoe. Said Napoleon in the hottest 
of the fray : "What brave troops; it is a pity to destroy them." 
Later in the day he turned to his chief of staff, Soult, and said : 
"How well these English fight! but the}' must soon give way, don't 
you think so? " Soult, who had met them in Spain, replied : "I doubt 
whether the}' will ever give way." "Why?" asked Bonaparte. 
"They will suffer themselves to be cut to pieces first," was Soult's 
reply. 

I ask again, why was this? Let Cressy, Poictiers, Agincourt, 
Blenheim and Waterloo answer; the volatile Frenchman with his 
absynthe cannot fight the sturdy, beaf-eatiug Englishman, and there 
I, for one, am content to let it rest. 

In critically viewing the result, w r e must also do Napoleon justice. 
His genius was all that it had ever been for devising his plans, but 



V 



his physical health was not what was necessary for putting them 
into effect. He was a sick man at Waterloo, and much of his energ\- 
and dash was gone. Farther, he was depressed by the frowns that 
fortune had cast upon him. Years before he said to Metternich, 
"you do not know what strength is given by good luck! It, alone, 
gives courage. It is only by daring that one does anything worth 
doing, and it is onty from the feeling of good luck that one ever 
dares anything. Misfortune crushes and blasts one's mind ; thence- 
forward one does nothing well." A competent critic has observed: 
"He rode to his last battle conscious of loss of hope of prestige 
and failing powers. The general who flew from field to field in Italy, 
who the night before Jena would not rest till he had himself seen the 
artillery in position, and who multiplied himself in 1814, is not to 
be recognized in the Waterloo campaign. Wellington triumphed 
over a great general, but it was not the Napoleon of Rivoli and 
Austerlitz whom he faced." 

To show how desperateh- Blucher was pressed, let me relate this 
fact: Field-Marshal Von Blucher, commander of the Prussian armv, 
found it necessary to charge at the head of five hundred dragoons 
into the French ranks. His horse was killed under him. He was 
trampled beyond recognition. "Ah! the old swordsman, we have 
him at last" (Napoleon's words). By a desperate rally he is recov- 
ered and is preserved for the eighteen miles of eighteen inches of 
mud that brought him to the Duke's left at 4 P. M. the 18th day 
of June, when it was necessary that he should come up or that 
night should appear. "We cannot get there, but we must; I have 
promised the Duke that we shall come." 



The disturber and destroyer of homes— a loving young man, his 
brother, named Jerome, sub-officer in the French navy, happens to 
be with his frigate at Baltimore. He meets and falls in love with 
the beautiful Miss Patterson; she loves him in return; they marry; 
eighteen months hence, with her boy in her arms, the}' land in Spain. 
Shall not love prevail ? No ; my policy must be carried out. This 
exquisite girl is commanded to go away; Jerome shall be king of 
Westphalia. In after years he meets his bride in a picture-gallery. 
They run from each other. The Bonapartes of America are what 
they are that Jerome shall be a king, confound him. At Waterloo 
he commanded his division, and did it superbly well; but I shall 
not forget him for deserting his bride. 

And while we are on this subject, ladies and gentlemen, let us 
have a word to sa\- concerning "the Old Guard that dies but never 
surrenders." The Imperial Guard was commanded at Waterloo by 
a French gentleman named Cambronne, of whom the Iron Duke 
wrote home, "a drunken ruffian named Cambronne fell into our 
hands." Napoleon appropriated by his will to this veteran fakir 
50,000 francs of money he did not possess, and it has always been 
supposed that his veracious account of the affair was that "the 
Old Guard dies but never surrenders." 

My excellent friend, Mr. A. Salle' Watkins, has a very charming 
song called "A Grasshopper Sat on the Sweet Potato Vine," in 
which the grasshopper gives a very touching account of the manner 
in which the turkey gobbler gobbled him in. The turkey gobbler 
also gave his version of the affair, which was materialh r different. 
Lieutenant-Colonel Halkett, a superb Englishman, who commanded 



the first and second brigades of the Hanoverian subsidiary force o r 
landwehr, which must never be confounded with the German legion 
in the king's pay, and who faced the Imperial Guard, on being told 
of its d}dng but never surrendering, pronounced it to be ''damned 
humbug." Halkett's version of it was, that after the last French 
advance, broken parties of the Guard, which had already begun to 
"fall back," in other words to run away, were close to the British 
advanced skirmishers. Observing a French general rallying his men, 
and wishing to give encouragement to his (Halkett's) young sol- 
diers, he put spurs to the powerful English hunter he bestrode, 
which started off. The French evidently thought that Halkett's 
horse had bolted. Coming close to Cambronne* Halkett presented 
a pistol and called on him to surrender, which he promptly did. 
At the moment Halkett's horse was shot under him, and he saw 
Cambronne making off towards his men. Getting his horse on its 
legs again, with a desperate effort, Halkett pursued, caught Cam- 
bronne b3 r the aiguilette, swung him around and cantered off with him 
into the British lines— and this is the Old Guard, that sometimes 
dies but never surrenders. 

It is of course impossible, in the course of an hour's lecture, to do 
more than hint at the dramatic incidents of this wonderful career, but 
I must ask you to let me, as a loving task, digress enough to tell you 
something of Marshal Ney's murder. 

The career of Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France, ended in 
April, 1814, when he abdicated the throne. The allies who had 
dethroned him made Louis the XVIIIth king. The King paid no 
attention whatever to the changed order that the Revolution had 



brought about, but started the government and continued it on the 
theories that prevailed when his predecessor, Louis XVIth lost his 
head. He continued this sort of reign for ten months, in which time 
the populace came to understand that "privilege" and "aristocracy" 
were to be restored, and that they were to be again slaves. They 
hated the thought of conscription again, but the\^ remembered that 
the warrior who led them to slaughter also provided for the son who 
distinguished himself. They "fatigued" of the Bourbons and they 
wanted Bonaparte. He sat in his eyre at Elba. Seeing what went 
on, he saw the blunders of the Bourbons and the rising indignation of 
the people; he saw his chance, and came across into France to dazzle 
the world again with the hundred days. 

Before his reign ended, Ne}' had held out with loyal devotion to 
him up to the actual act of abdication, but then he gave in his 
adhesion to Louis the XVIIIth as the established government, and 
was taken into the inmost confidence of the Crown. He was sent 
to the south of France to command the troops that had orders to 
kill or capture Bonaparte. When these old veterans met their Em- 
peror, with his breast bared and the cry upon his lips "Will you 
kill your Emperor?" to a man the\ r declared that they would not 
fire upon him, and to a man they declared he should be their sove- 
reign again. He marched up alone, with his coat thrown open, to a 
regiment under arms, seized an old veteran by the beard and asked 
him, 'Will 3'ou shoot your Emperor?" The old veteran, his eyes 
streaming with tears, ran his ramrod down in his gun to show it was 
not loaded and answered, "See, I could not hurt thee; all the others 
are the same." Nev tried hard to control his men and to hold them 



steadfast to the King's government, but old memories and affections 
were too strong for him. McDonald had to fly from his command 
to save his life. There stood Ney, with his command gone; the sove- 
reign to whom he had sworn allegiance commanded his presence; on 
every hand a tumultuous populace, cursing and damning a Bourbon 
dynasty upheld by foreign bayonets, threw their hats in the air and 
struggled together for the honor of being nearest to their liege lord. 
Is it surprising that Ney, under the influence of what he saw, should 
have cast his lot in with the new Revolution ? 

Casuists may and will differ about what his duty was, but, even 
if he did hesitate and halt respecting a restoration of religion to an 
infidel but weary France; even if he doubted where mothers, sisters, 
and daughters pleaded with him to yield, yet will the patriot and 
true man condone his crime, if crime it be, and a just God will place 
him amongst those who sinned, if they sinned at all, without know- 
ledge or design. Through it all we must never forget that this was 
Marshal Ney— son of a poor cooper, it is true; but marshal and 
peer of France, Duke of Elchingen and Prince of the Moskowa— 
exalted honors and titles won by his heroic spirit at the point of 
the bayonet while Ney was performing his duty, as he understood 
it, to his country and his God. 

The conspicuous part which Ney bore in the hundred days is 
too familiar to bear comment. The figure of the heroic Marshal 
issuing out of Waterloo all blackened and begrimed with powder, 
five horses killed under him, hatless, and his sword broken in two, 
is too familiar to be painted again. 



The Bourbons called his conduct treason, and ordered him to be 
tried by a court-martial. Although Ney was a soldier, he was also 
a citizen and peer of France. He was defended by the two Berryers. 
Unfortunately for him, they claimed his right to a trial by his 
peers, and the military court allowed the claim. Tried by soldiers, 
but one result could have occurred. But tried b} r a body of poli- 
ticians, over whom the King's patronage exercised the usual sway, 
Ney was condemned and ordered to be shot. 

A military execution is a thing of supreme importance. Its aim 
is example. The command is paraded in presence of the condemned, 
the execution takes place where every eye can rest upon it. The 
troops are then marched by the dead body, and all that plumed 
hearse and universal pomp can do to affect the imagination is 
brought into play. 

The execution of a commander of such high renown as Ney in 
the presence of a whole army would have been a thing for soldiers 
to talk of in all time. Were the proprieties of the occasion observed? 
A small party of gentlemen riding out for pleasure on the morning 
of December 7, 1815, saw a few soldiers standing near the garden 
of the Luxembourg. Presently a Eacre drove up and a gentleman 
dressed plainW in citizen's clothes stepped out. This was Marshal 
Ney. He took his position in front of the soldiers and folded his 
arms. When the officer in charge of the firing party saw whom it 
was he was to murder he became petrified and could not perform 
his task. Thereupon, one of Ney's judge's, the Duke de la Force, 
took his place and gave the command to fire. He fell at the first 
volley — six balls in his body, three in his neck and head, and one in 



his arm. When he stood up to receive his sentence and was asked 
for his name, discarding honors and titles, he replied "Plain Michel 
Ney, soon to be a handful of dust." Could anything be more 
pitiable? 

In 1S0S Napoleon had the world at his feet. To say nothing of 
the wonderful Italian campaign, Egypt, and Marengo, his brow was 
then garnished by Ulm, Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland. But, to con- 
solidate his grip on earth, he wanted the intimate union and alliance 
of Alexander, Czar of Russia. He captured every one with whom he 
was brought in contact; why should he not capture the Czar? He 
determined to do it, and had the meeting between them arranged for 
the fall at Erfurt. He went there accompanied by every accessory calcu- 
lated to dazzle the imagination. Great commanders were on his staff, 
brilliant uniforms shone wherever one looked, and he actually carried 
the whole of the Paris stage, filled then with such actors as Talma, 
to exhibit plays that should exalt him. The literati of the world 
repaired there to see him— even Goethe amongst the rest. Talleyrand 
has recorded the interview between these two, from which I quote : 
Napoleon : " Monsieur Goethe, I am delighted to see you." 
Goethe: "Sire, I see that when your Majesty travels you do not 
neglect to notice even the most insignificant persons." 

Napoleon : " I know you are Germany's first dramatic poet " 
Goethe: "Sire, you wrong our country; we are under the impres- 
sion we have our great men. Schiller, Lessing, and Wieland are surely 
known to your Majesty." 



Napoleon: "I confess I hardly know them. You generally live in 
Weimar. It is the place where the most celebrated men of German 
literature meet." 

Goethe: "Sire, they enjoy great protection there; but, for the 
present, there is only one man in Weimar who is known throughout 
Europe; it is Wieland." 

Napoleon : "I should be delighted to see Monsieur Wieland." 

Goethe: "If your Majesty will allow me to ask him, I feel certain 
that he will come here immediately." 

Napoleon : "Write and tell Monsieur Wieland to come here." 

In two days Wieland had come. 

Talleyrand says: 

"I do not know what he wished to obtain from Wieland, but 
he was particular^ affable with him," and then he reports their 
conversation word for word — a most charming talk which I have 
not time to give. In it Napoleon criticised Wieland's theories, and 
Talkryrand tells us that when he left Wieland was very much discon- 
certed, by doubting whether he had defended his works as they 
deserved. 

Erfurt is near to the battle-field of Jena. To do him honor, a 
hunt was organized to take place on Jena's ground. Afterwards 
there was a great dinner served on a table in the shape of a horse- 
shoe, at which were placed only reigning princes. At night there 
was a ball. Having made the rounds of the room and pausing near 
some 3 r oung ladies, the names of whom he inquired of Herr Frederick 
von Muller, the Duke's chamberlain, who had l-eceived orders to 
accompany him, he retired at a distance from the vast throng and 



requested Herr von Muller to fetch Goethe and Wieland. He had 
to be theatrical or nothing. They came, and Talleyrand has recorded 
what took place. I quote: 

Napoleon: "You are pleased with our plays, I hope, Monsieur 
Goethe. Have these gentlemen come to them?" 

Goethe: "To the one of to-da3 r , Sire, but not to those at Erfurt." 
Napoleon: "ham sorry for it. A good tragedy should be looked 
upon as the most worthy school for superior men. From a certain 
point of view it is above histoiw. In the best history very little 
effect is produced. Man, when alone, is but little affected; men 
assembled receive the stronger and more lasting impressions. I 
assure you that Tacitus, the historian, that jon are always quoting, 
never taught me anything. Could you find a greater, and at times 
more unjust, detractor of the human race? In the most simple 
actions he finds criminal motives ; he makes emperors out as the 
most profound villains, in order to make admiration for the genius 
that has penetrated them. People are right in saying that his 
Annals are not a history of the Empire, but an abstract of the 
prison records of Rome. They are always dealing with accusations, 
with convicts, and with people who open their veins in their baths. 
He who speaks incessanth^ of accusations, he is the most notorious 
informer. What an involved style ! How obscure ! I am not a great 
Latin scholar, but Tacitus' obscurity display's itself in ten or twelve 
Italian translations that I have read. I therefore conclude that his 
chief quality is obscurity— that it springs from that which one calls 
his genius, as well as from his style, and that it is so connected 
with his manner of expressing himself only because it is in his con- 



ception. I have heard people praise him for the fear he awakes in 
tyrants; he makes them afraid of the people. That is a great mis- 
take, and does the people harm. Am I not right, Monsieur Wie- 
land ? But I am interrupting you. We are not here to speak of 
Tacitus. Look! how well the Czar Alexander dances." 

"I do not know why we are here, Sire," replied Herr Wieland, 
"but I know that at this moment your Majesty makes me verv 
happy." 

" Ah, really ? In what way ? " 

And now hear Wieland's noble defence of Tacitus. It is fitting to 
be written in letters of gold and framed and hung in everv man's pri- 
vate apartment : 

"Sire, the manner in which your Majesty' has spoken to me 
makes me forget that he has two thrones. I see in him only a man 
of letters, and I know that your Majesty will not disdain that title, 
for I remember that, on leaving for Eg\ r pt, he signed his letters 
'Bonaparte, member of the institute and general-in-chief. ' It is then 
to a man of letters, Sire, that I shall try to reply. I felt, at Erfurt, 
that I defended myself but feebly when I was the object of your criti- 
cism ; but I believe I am able to defend Tacitus better. 

" I understand that his principal aim is to punish tyrants — but if 
he denounces them it is not to their slaves, whose revolt would only 
bring a change of tyranny ; he denounces them to the justice of ages 
and to mankind. And the latter ought to have had enough trouble 
and experience, that its reason should henceforth acquire the rule here- 
tofore solely enjoyed by its passions." 



Napoleon: "That is what all our philosophers say; but that 
supremac}^ of reason I look all about for and find it nowhere." 

Wieland : "Sire, it is not long since Tacitus began to have so many 
readers. That hankering for him is a clear progress of the human 
mind ; for, for centuries he was shut out of the academies as well as 
from courts. The slaves of taste were quite as much afraid of it as the 
servants of despotism. It is only since Racine named him the greatest 
painter of antiquity that your universities and our own have thought 
this judgment might be true. Your Majesty says that in reading 
Tacitus 3 r ou see nothing but assassins, informers, and scoundrels; but, 
Sire, that is exactly what the Roman Empire was, governed by those 
monsters fallen under Tacitus' pen. The genius of Tacitus traveled 
the world with the legions of the Republic. The genius of Tacitus 
must almost always have been applied to the study of the prison 
records of Rome, for there only could he find all the history of the 
Empire. It is ever only in prison records," said he, in an animated 
voice, "that historians can become acquainted with those unhappy 
times, amongst all nations, when princes and their people, opposed in 
views and principles, live trembling before each other. Then the slight- 
est pretext gives rise to criminal trials, and death appears to be in- 
flicted by centurions and executioners oftenerthan b\ r time and nature. 
Sire, Suetonius, Dion, and Cassius relate a much greater number of 
crimes than Tacitus, in a style void of energy, while nothing is more 
terrible than Tacitus' pen. However, his genius is as impartial as it 
is inexorable. Whenever he can see any good, even in the monstrous 
reign of Tiberius, he looks it out, takes hold of it, and shows it off in 
the bold relief he gives to everything. He can find even praise for that 



imbecile Claudius, who was really so only by his nature and bv his 
dissipation. That impartiality, the most important quality of justice, 
Tacitus exercises on the most opposite subjects— on the Republic as 
well as the Empire, on citizens as well as on princes. By the stamp of 
his genius one could believe he could love only the Republic. One 
could confirm that opinion by his words on Brutus, Cassius, and 
Codrus, so deeply engraven in the memory of our youth ; but when he 
speaks of the Emperors who had so happily reconciled what was 
thought could not be reconciled— the Empire and liberty— one feels 
that the art of governing appears to him the most beautiful discovery 
on earth." 

Talleyrand interjects: "The prince primate, who had approached, 
and all the little academy of Weimar which surrounded Wieland, 
could not contain their joy." 

"Sire," Wieland continued, "if it be true to say of Tacitus that 
tyrants are punished when he paints them, it is still more true to 
say that good princes are rewarded when he traces their images 
and presents them to future glory." 

Napoleon: "I have too strong a party to cope with, Monsieur 
Wieland, and you neglect none of your advantages. I think j^ou 
knew I did not like Tacitus; do you correspond with Herr von 
Miiller, whom I saw at Berlin?" This was Johan von Muller, the 
the great historian. 

Wieland: "Yes, Sire." 

Napoleon: "Confess that he has written to you on the subject 
of our conversation." 



Wieland: "It is true, Sire. It is by him that I knew your 
Majesty liked to speak of Tacitus, but did not, however, like him." 
Napoleon: "I do not like to say I am beaten, Monsieur Wie- 
land ; to that I would consent with difficulty. To-morrow I return 
to Erfurt, and we shall continue our discussion. I have a good 
store of weapons in my arsenal for sustaining that Tacitus has not 
entered far enough into the development of the causes of events; 
that he has not sufficiently shown the mystery of the actions that 
he relates, and their mutual linking together in order to prepare the 
judgment of posterity, which must judge men and governments such 
as they were in their time and in the midst of the circumstances 
which surrounded them." 

The Emperor moved off after this, and all the academicians, fear- 
ing to trust their memory, had already gone to write clown among 
themselves what they had just heard. Next morning Herr von 
Miiller was with Talleyrand at 7 o'clock to ask if the onslaught 
Bonaparte had made on Tacitus, and Wieland's defence of him, was 
correctly recorded, and they agreed that it was. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I have now arrived at the point in this 
discourse where, according to the plan I have formed in my mind, 
it is proper to present to you a brief but connected sketch of the 
public career of this wonderful man. In the limits of an evening's 
lecture this must of necessity be very brief and hurried, and I must, 
therefore, solicit your indulgence for its many imperfections. 

As you all know, Bonaparte first demonstrated his genius for war 
as a major of artillery at the siege of Toulon, where, by the way, he 
received the only wound— a bayonet thrust in the thigh— that he is 



ever known to have received, except a trifling abrasion on the heel from 
a spent bullet, in after years. The reputation as a soldier he made 
here caused him to be called on by the miserable and weak Directory 
to defend them from one of the customary revolutions of the Paris 
mob. He defended them, killed many Frenchmen, and came to be 
thought a hero. 

Wedding Josephine Beauharnais shortly thereafter, who was inti- 
mate with the family of Director Barras, he was appointed through 
her influence, at the age of twenty-six, General-in-Chief of the army of 
Italy. This meant that Austria and Fiance had been at war for four 
years, with Itah^ as their battle-field ; that Austria had pretty well 
frazzled out the French forces there; and that the so-called French 
army of Italy consisted of 35,000 half-starved, naked, shoeless French- 
men, crouching in the fastnesses of the Alps, and confronted by 60,000 
superb, well-drilled, fully-equipped Austrians with their allies. 

Of course, the old soldiers of the army of Italy murmured and 
grumbled when the bo} r -general, of whom few of them had ever 
heard, came to take supreme command of them. It took very few 
hours of his presence, however, to inform them all that a master 
had dropped down amongst them, and he soon had hearty and 
implicit obedience to his commands. Who shall tell the glories that 
followed in the next eighteen months? Monte-Notti, Lodi, Kivoli, 
Areola, will ring in the ears of warriors so long as men bear arms. 
Never was he able to bring upon the field of battle as many as 
60,000 men — often fewer than 20,000; yet, in that short space he 
killed and wounded 50,000 men, took 150,000 — not militia, but the 
superb regulars of Austria — prisoners, captured 170 standards, 550 



siege guns, 600 pieces of field artillery, and ended the war with the 
treat3' of Campo-Formio, under which the proud Emperor of Aus- 
tria humbled himself in the dust before the hated Republic of France. 
01 course I can do no more than give a hurried glance at these 
great events, but one incident I must not pass. He soon fought 
the battle at the bridge of Lodi, of which he always spoke as 
" that terrible passage of Lodi." His soldiers had begun to find him 
out, and used to hold meetings, at which they would promote him 
from one rank to another. After Lodi they made him a corporal, and, 
though he received many subsequent promotions, Le petit Corporal 
will stick* to him while time lasts. He said at St. Helena that it was 
alter Lodi that his mind opened and he began to see that he was 
the man of destiny. 

The war being now ended, Bonaparte's occupation was gone. 
At Paris, the imbecility of the Directory, the selfishness of contend- 
ing factions, left him nothing to hope for and everything to lose. 
When Bourrienne would urge him to seize the reins of supreme power, 
he answered invariably, "the pear is not yet ripe, Bourrienne." His 
sagacity taught him that France must yet undergo stern trials before 
she was ready for the man of the day, and that that man must absent 
himself to a distance whilst the idiots thrashed each other out. 

England, guided by Mr. Pitt, was the Revolution's implacable foe. 
Playing upon this chord, he persuaded the Directory that Egypt was 
the place from which to attack England through a raid on India, and 
received permission to embark and transport a picked army of 40,000 
men across the Mediterranean to Alexandria. With Lord Nelson's 
fleet complete master of that sea, was anything so impudent ever 



before attempted ? Nevertheless he attempted it, and landed his whole 
army safely in Egypt and soon overcame the whole country. I cannot 
pause to comment on what occurred while he was there, further than 
to hint at the vastness of the designs that he had before his mind. 
Egypt subdued, he proposed to march around the Mediterranean, free- 
ing the natives from the hated Turkish rule. The revolutionary cry, 
" Libert}- and Equality," was to be spread upon every side. By 
the time he reached Constantinople he was to have an army of 
300,000 natives, officered by his French soldiers, and armed from the 
depots of the Turks that he took on the way. Once at Constan- 
tinople, he would then determine whether he should return to Paris, 
overthrowing the Austrian Empire on the way, or whether he would 
bid adieu to Europe and her civilization, and inarch to India, to be 
supreme ruler of the East. His plans were all thwarted by the obsti- 
nacy- with which St. Jean D'Acre held out, and by the indomitable 
pluck of that English sailor, Sir Sidney Smith, and he was forced to 
march back through the desert to Egypt again. 

Meanwhile war had again broken out between Austria and 
France, and Austria had wrested from the imbecile Directory all his 
conquests in Italy. Some stray European newspapers reached him 
through the English blockade, giving full particulars of the French 
disasters. He looked up and exclaimed to Bourrienne "the fools have 
lost Italy — I must return to France." Without any authority for 
doing so, he turned over the command of the army to Kleber, silently 
embarked on a small frigate, stole out of the Nile in the night through 
the English fleet, safely crossed the Mediterranean, and in a few days 
was in Paris. But a few weeks elapsed before the Directory was over- 



thrown and he was King of France, under the title of First Consul. 
Now let it not be thought that Bonaparte ravished France. He was 
made their supreme ruler because the French people wanted his strong 
arm to restore order, suppress civil war, and bring back religion. The 
people immediately voted upon the question whether he should be 
made Consul for life, and with practical unanimity they voted that he 
should be; just as, four years later, when the people voted upon the 
question whether he should be Emperor, with his descendants to suc- 
ceed him, they did the same thing. 

His genius was sadly needed, for French affairs abroad could 
hardly have been in a more deplorable state. The Austrians had 
pushed the French out of all Italy down to Genoa, where Melas had 
Massena blocked up and slowly starving in a state of siege. 

Bourrienne tells us that he saw Bonaparte one day hang down on 
a map of Italy spread out on the floor. Said he : " Do you know where 
I shall strike Melas ? " " How the devil should I know ? " said Bour- 
rienne. "I shall strike him there," he said, pointing to a part of 
Italy that required him to transport his arnn^ across the snow-clad 
Alps. To accomplish this wonderful feat, in which cannon must be 
taken from their wheels, put in the trunks of trees, and drawn with 
ropes up steep ascents, men must climb, single file, over miles of ice- 
bound hills; Fort Bard, in the way, must be passed in the night, with 
horses' hoofs bound in hay, lest the noise in passing might arouse the 
garrison ; all was successfully done. Before Melas knew there was a 
Frenchman in Italy, and on the day that the heroic Massena was 
starved into surrendering Genoa, Melas learned that Napoleon was 
between him and Vienna, and that he had behind him a death-struggle 



for his existence. Dispositions for battle were made at Marengo, and 
at 4 o'clock in the da\r Bonaparte seemed to be so completely 
destroyed that Melas quit the field of battle and retired for rest. A 
few days before, an old comrade and apparently intimate friend of 
Bonaparte, named Boudet, had been killed. Hearing the fact, his sole 
comment was, "Who the devil shall I get to take Boudet's place?" 
He had left that superb soldier Dessaix in Egypt Dessaix had got 
leave and had returned to France, but on landing he heard what was 
going on in Italy, and instead of going to Paris he went to Italy 
direct, and arrived at headquarters the day before Marengo. Bona- 
parte at once gave him Boudet's division. When the panic was at its 
height, and all seemed lost, Dessaix's division stood like a granite 
wall. "What do you think of the fight, Dessaix?" "The battle is 
completely lost; but it is only- 2 o'clock; we have time to gain another 
to-day." Savary, his aide, rode to Napoleon and told him Dessaix was 
ready to go in. "Ride," said Napoleon, "to Kellerman, who has five 
hundred heavy dragoons behind that hill, and tell him as soon as he 
learns by the firing that Dessaix is heavihy engaged, to charge the Aus- 
trian flank." Everything worked like oiled machinery. Dessaix and 
the Austrians met in a furious struggle, and at its climax Kellerman 
thundered clown upon the Austrian flank. Order disappeared, panic 
set in, and immediately the Austrian army was a disorganized mob; 
but superb Dessaix had laid down his life, and it was never known 
whether the ball that entered his back came from his own men, as he 
led them to the charge, or from the Austrians as he faced his own 
men with drawn sword, beckoning them on. 

The war was ended, the peace of Amiens, that pacified the world, 



ensued, and grateful France, at once beginning to blossom likethe rose, 
adored her rescuer and preserver. Oh, what a dav of prosperity and 
happiness was that! Science strode, the arts were developed, capital 
increased, manufactories grew up, the fields lay fallow waiting for 
the seed, and all men rejoiced. But the devil, buttoned up inside of 
Bonaparte's coat, could not tolerate a continuance of this great 
contentment to man. There must be war, there must be murder, 
there must be slaughter, there must be miser}'. He kindled war 
again and massed a superb army at Boulogne to invade England. 
Nelson at Trafalgar destro\ r ed his fleet, and England was abandoned. 
Austria had rashly invited his attack, and Ulm and Austerlitz fol- 
lowed. 

This is the campaign which provoked the dear old German officer 
into exclaiming: "He has spoiled the art of war, which had been 
carried to such an exquisite perfection by Marshal Dauu. In my 
youth, we used to march and countermarch all the summer without 
gaining or losing a square league, and then we went into winter 

quarters. And now comes an ignorant, hot-headed young man, who 

■ 
flies about from Bovdogne to Ulm, and from Ulm to the middle of 

Moravia, and fights battles in December. The whole system of his 
tactics is monstrously incorrect." 

I forbear to go over Jena, Friedland, and Wagram, but, master 
of all the continent save Russia, he fixed his eye upon her and deter- 
mined that he would contend with even her snows. When his 
500,000 regulars were on the way to Moscow there was shown a 
pageant at Dresden that I must take one look at. Abbe' de Pradt, 
who was there, has described it, and let us hear him : 



"Come, you who would form a correct idea of the dominion 
Napoleon exercised over Europe, who desire to fathom the depth of 
terror into which the sovereigns of the continent were plunged; 
come, transport yourselves with me to Dresden, and there contem- 
plate that mighty chief at the proudest period of his glory— so near 
to that of his humiliation. 

"The Emperor occupied the principal apartments of the palace. 
He brought with him almost the whole of his household, and formed 
a regular establishment. The King of Saxony was nothing. It was 
constantly at Napoleon's apartments that the sovereigns and their 
families were assembled, by cards of invitation from the Grand Mar- 
shal of his palace. Private individuals were sometimes admitted ; I 
had myself that honor on the day of my appointment to Poland. 

The Emperor had his levee as usual at nine. Then you should have 



seen in what numbers, with what submissive timidity a crowd of 

■ 
potentates— mixed and confounded among the courtiers, and often 

entirely overlooked by them— awaited in fearful expectation the 

moment of appearing before the new arbiter of their destinies! You 

should have heard the frivolous questions the Emperor put to them, 

and the humble answers which they ventured to hazard! What 

Phaedra said of Hippolytus may be justly applied to Napoleon's 

residence at Dresden : 

'"Even at the altars where I seemed to pray, 
This was the real God of all my vows.' 

"Napoleon was in fact the god of Dresden, the only king among 
all the kings assembled there— the king of kings. On him all eyes 

39 



were turned; in his apartments and around his person were collected 
the august guests who filled the palace of the King of Saxony. The 
throng of foreigners, of officers, of courtiers — the arrival of couriers 
crossing one another in every direction; the mass of people hurrying 
to the gates of the palace at the least movement of the Emperor, 
crowding upon his steps, gazing a1 him with an air of mingled 
admiration and astonishment — the expectation of the future strongly 
painted in every face, the confidence on one side, the anxiety on the 
other— all these together presented the vastest and most interesting 
picture, the most brilliant and dazzling monument ever vet raised to 
the power of Napoleon! He had now certainly attained the zenith 
of Ids glory. He might hold his elevated station; but to pass it 
seemed impossible." 

This was on the way to Russia. Four orfive years before, these 
same kings had come to Erfurt to humble themselves in the dust 
before him. Jfear Talleyrand's account of them. He was there and 
saw each one of them every day : 

Said he: "I have heard the following line, of I know not what 
wretched tragic play, quoted : 

" ' 'I'n n'a a q'obeir, fcn erai an tyran.' 

"I have not met with a single prince at Erfurt to whom f should 

not have been more justified in saving: 

"'Tii n'as -ii que regner; in serais an esclave."' 

Continuing: "It is easy to understand this. Mighty sovereigns 
wish their courts to convey the idea of the importance of their power. 
On the contrary, petty princes wish theirs to disguise thenarrow limits 



of their rule. Everything magnifies, or rather dwells, about a petty 
sovereign— etiquette, regard, and flattery ; the latter is the standard of 
his greatness ; he never thinks it exaggerated. This wa\>- of judging 
things becomes quite natural to him, and is not altered by the vicissi- 
tudes of fortune. Thus, if victory brings into his dominions— into his 
very palace — a man before whom he can himself be but a courtier, he 
will stoop, in the presence of his victor, as low as he wished his own 
subjects to do before himself. He cannot conceive any other form of 
flattery. At powerful courts they know another means of raising 
themselves: it is to bow ; petty princes onl}' know how to crawl, and 
remain crawling until fortune comes to raise them. I did not see at 
Erfurt a single hand nobW stroking the lion's mane." 

These be bitter words, but I believe just. 

Bobby Burns, telling of his toady friend, described them all when 

he said : 

" Of Lordly acquaintance you boast, 

And the Dukes you dined wi' yestereen, 

Yet an insect's an insect at most, 

Though it crawl on the curl of a queen." 

Borodino and Moscow wei'e the endings of his triumphs. He 
shall now account to mankind for his sins. Twenty-three thousand 
survivors of 500,000 Frenchmen bleaching their bones on the arid 
fields of frozen Russia shall tell the pitiable 'tale. The adult French- 
men being dead, the boy must take his place. Comes conscription, 
Dresden, Leipsic, the defence of France, with all Europe in arms. 
Where is the tiger in his lair, that stood out as he did in Champagne? 
Let Champaubert, Montminail, Craonne, Brienne, Areis sur Aube 
make their reply. Arcis saw him at the head of 17,000 men, enveloped 



by almost 300,000. He saw that his career was closed. A shell fell in 
front of a regiment of \'oung conscripts and the hissing fuse blazedSits 
messengers of death. Now was his time. He may encourage the 
youths ; he ma}- also die. You must see it to understand it ! You must 
look at the contrast between the fright of the horse and the calmness 
of the man. The white horse knew his rider and he knew he must 
alwaj's answer to that spur. He spurred to the side of the bursting 
shell — and look at him as he stood there! The horse was hurt, but not 
a muscle of the man. For a moment he was enveloped in smoke and 
dust, and it seemed that all was over. But not so. "Can I not at 
least die? " said he. When he went into Russia, Ivan had given him a 
potion which would certainly kill him if the Cossacks got him in their 
grip to mutilate him, a la Frederick the Great. He had worn it always 
next to his heart. This night he will take it. Death comes not, but 
horrible agonies and pain. "Ivan, give me some more." "Sire, my 
profession calls on me to save and not destroj^," as he ran from the 
palace. Emetics do the rest — Providence has saved him to expiate his 
crimes on the rock of St. Helena, and, ladies and gentlemen, if it gives 
3 r ou any pleasure to look upon him in his desolation and despair, look 
at him as Meissonier has presented him before you. 



H 106 89 1 



